


The Best Medicine

by keelywolfe



Category: Transformers, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Prime, a medic, and a bad temper get stuck in a cave. Hey, come on, this cliché is so popular, they even did it on the show! Er...not quite like this, though. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Medicine

"I suppose you think this is hilarious," Ratchet said sourly, slumped against the rocky wall of the cave. He gave the pile of rocks blocking the entrance a hard kick, watching as tiny pebbles broke free and showered down in a rain of dust. Not a single one of the larger rocks budged a micrometer.

Optimus considered his answer. His own feet were next to Ratchet's, the cave-in that was separating them from both the inner mine and the outside world leaving them barely enough room to sit, never mind any effort at comfort. 

Finally, Optimus replied with honest curiosity, "Do I seem amused?"

Ratchet only scoffed, glowering at him through the dim light provided by their optics. "You don't need to. I know you entirely too well. You might be able to keep up that sober, dignified expression on the outside but on the inside, you're probably laughing it up."

There didn't seem to be a reasonable way to protest that assessment, nor to prove Ratchet wrong, and so Optimus decided silence would probably be his best course of action. Mistakenly, he discovered, as his lack of defense only gave Ratchet ammunition to continue his diatribe. 

"This is your fault, you know," Ratchet muttered, kicking the pile of rocks again defiantly. 

"It is," Optimus agreed. It was, and Optimus was perfectly willing to take the blame for it. Particularly if it would cut off Ratchet's tantrum at the planning stage. 

No such luck and he gave a mental sigh, settling in for the long haul. 

"I was perfectly happy to remain at base. I was doing just fine. I have a list…a list!... Of things that need to be done that's as long as you are tall but noooo, that's not enough—" 

"You're quite busy, I do know..." Optimus murmured.

"I am quite busy! Every moment I am out of recharge I am working." 

"Yes, of course, that is why…"

"And that's why you say I need to get out. You say it'll do me some good. Well, here we are," Ratchet gestured furiously. "I'm out! And we're in a cave-in at an abandoned mine." He slouched back against the stone. "I suppose we'll just have to see what good it does for me, won't we."

With that, it seemed like he was done. Optimus gave him another few moments anyway, the quiet hum of their systems surrounding them. Distantly, he could hear the sound of digging. Arcee had assured them over the coms that rescue was on the way. 

It would take some time, though, the two of them would be trapped for hours yet, and a silently sulking Ratchet was simply no fun at all. Optimus thought for a moment, nodding to himself, and then nudged Ratchet's foot with his own.

Ratchet's sudden glare held enough heat to scorch plating. "Stop that."

"My apologies," Optimus said solicitously, "My joints are stiff."

"Right," Ratchet said suspiciously.

He gave it one klik, two, before he did it again. 

"I said, stop it!"

"Hmmm?" Optimus said, distractedly. Deliberately, he widened his optics, giving Ratchet his most convincing expression of innocence. Not that Ratchet was so easy to fool and his disgusted snort as he turned away spoke volumes, most of them obscene. Perfect.

This time he waited three kliks before he did it again and Ratchet seemed to barely resist the urge to kick him back, sighing aloud, "Must you be so childish?"

But Optimus did not miss his quickly hidden smile, had to struggle to hide his own. Only with Ratchet could he be this free and yes, childish.

"You would prefer that I…how do the humans say it, act my age?"

"If you tried acting like a human your age, you'd have to pretend to be dust," Ratchet said dryly. "I'd prefer it if you simply act in a manner appropriate to your station."

Optimus gave a non-committal hum, considering that. As opposed to answering, he drew his legs up, letting his foot brush Ratchet's again, this time with tantalizing slowness. 

Ratchet put a quick stop to that, jerking his feet well out of range. "Don't you even think about it."

"I am not acting childish," Optimus pointed out. He let his voice drop to a lower register, watched with interest as Ratchet twitched. As a medic, his scanners were highly tuned, responsive even to small changes in tonality, and Optimus had known Ratchet for a long, long time. 

"Stop that!" Ratchet sputtered out, one hand rubbing his audials roughly. "You are not involving me in any of your perversions, so you might as well just sit and behave!"

"Of course," Optimus soothed, shifting so that his feet were well away from Ratchet's. It had the bonus effect of parting his legs further, enough that he could settle one hand between his legs, over his interfacing panel. For a long moment, he did nothing, only allowed his hand to rest there. Then, idly, he stroked over it, teased the seams until the panel retracted, the sound loud enough in the small cavern that Ratchet jerked in surprise, his head turning back to Optimus even as his optics flicked downward and—

"What are you doing?!" Ratchet said, his vocalizer crackling to a higher pitch in his shock. Optimus noted with some amusement that Ratchet looked utterly  _scandalized_  by his Prime's very UnPrime-like behavior. 

"Routine maintenance," Optimus replied calmly, trailing his fingers over the slick length of his spike as it extended. A soft sigh of appreciation escaped him, Optimus slouching back and spreading his legs further. It gave him better access, his stroking hand curling easily around the heavy length of his spike but more importantly, it gave Ratchet a better view. "You did ask me not to involve you in my perversions," Optimus reminded him primly.

For a long moment, Ratchet actually gaped at him, mouth open and optics spiraled wide. He looked oddly young, in a way that Optimus was too young himself to ever have seen in truth. Optimus allowed a small smile to curve his mouth, charmed, as always, by Ratchet's somewhat prudish attitudes about interfacing. Millennia as a medic and Optimus could still find new ways to embarrass him. 

What he did not expect was Ratchet's expression to shift, a somewhat more familiar, calculating expression crossing fleetingly over his face. He might have been warier if his circuits hadn't already been heating, the tight clasp his own hand distracting in the very best of ways. A soft groan escaped him as he drew his hand down firmly, gripping the base of his spike tightly until the pressure became unbearable, and then dragged his fist back up, every sensory node in its path sending hot shocks of pleasure into his neural net. 

He was already close, ventilations coming in hot, quick gusts, when a sudden touch at his wrist startled him, stilling his quickening pace. Optimus opened his optics, and when had he closed them? – to find Ratchet kneeling in front of him, the dim glow of his optics oddly muted for all that they were the only light aside from Optimus's own. 

"Why don't you let me do that for you?" Ratchet murmured softly. "I am a medic."

It was his turn to be shocked, mutely allowing Ratchet to pull his hand away. Distantly, he could hear the sound of tunneling, Arcee and Bulkhead's slow and laborious approach, but here in this dark cavern there was nothing but Ratchet and a large hand that was not his own gently curling around his spike. 

"Oh," Optimus huffed out, too startled to protest. That Ratchet would be skilled was unquestionable; he was a medic, he knew their inner workings like a star captain knew his ship, every detail painstakingly recorded into his processors, to better his healing skills. 

That his touch was  _exquisite_ , that was unexpected and of the few times Optimus had coaxed Ratchet into interfacing with him, he'd never been so bold, never used those skilled medic's hands to tease him, drawing his fingers up his spike in such a way that the growing charge separated into hot, fine strands along his neural net. 

With an aching groan, Optimus surrendered to that slick, sweet touch, trembling as the charge grew, every tension wire in his body quivering with anticipation of the hot burst of overload, until the tight clasp of Ratchet's hand vanished. 

A garbled protest rose in his vocalizer, Optimus already half-sitting but for Ratchet roughly shoving him back down and oh, Primus, hot, slick suction surrounded him. Gasping, Optimus sprawled back on the unforgiving stone, barely noticing the harsh squeal of his armor scraping as Ratchet's mouth closed around him. Slick, perfect pressure, the nimble flicker of a glossa curling around the ridged head, and Optimus surrendered to the brilliant shock of overload, his vision blooming into flicking static-blue.

When he was finally able to open his optics again, Optimus blinked to see Ratchet sitting in front of him, grumpily wiping at his plating with a cleaning cloth. The moment he saw Optimus was awake, that glare shifted to him. "I've seen you in battle, I know you have better aim than this!"

It was no effort at all to stifle his chuckle as Ratchet irritably waved the transfluid-spattered cloth at him. 

"Apologies," Optimus husked out, letting out another groan as he shifted to a more comfortable position, or as close as he could get to it in current circumstance. 

Ratchet actually  _snarled_  at him, sounding more like an organic animal, "Yes, that certainly makes having to wipe  _your_  fluids out of  _my_  optics more bearable."

Hm, yes that would be an irritant. Ignoring Ratchet's very loud and highly physical protests, Optimus dragged him over by one arm, pulling his recalcitrant medic and occasional lover into his arms. He said nothing, waiting until Ratchet's struggles subsided into sullen acquiesce. 

"What can I do to make it up to you?" Optimus murmured into his audial. The sound of digging was closer, though not too close, there was time yet, he had a little time— Ratchet made that low growl again and it was no surprise at all that he grabbed Optimus's hand, dragging it down between his own legs. 

"You can start by seeing what good you can do for me," Ratchet hissed, already arching into the warm curve of Optimus's palm. His head dropped back on Optimus's shoulder, his fans stuttering on as he gasped out, "And stop laughing at me!"

"I would never—"

"I said, stop it! This isn't funny," Ratchet turned in his arms, pressed his mouth to Optimus's with furious intent. He still tasted sweet, the lingering remnants of Optimus's transfluid flavoring the kiss and with a mental shrug, Optimus gave in. 

With the same determination he had used in countless battles, Optimus set about to making Ratchet beg for more, and if he felt even the tiniest urge to laugh, Optimus only did it on the inside. 

finis


End file.
